The Silence That Remembers

Beneath our legs, anything ancient listens. It generally does not talk in language or designs, however in the lower sound of tectonic dishes, in the gradual drift of continents, in the manner roots discover the darkness without eyes. We walk across its skin, never understanding how serious their memory runs. Every grain of mud has damaged from the mountain. Every drop of water was once section of a surprise nobody remembers. The World remembers everything — it just doesn't speak it aloud.

Their style is concealed alone — the type of stop that echoes. You are able to experience it once the wind dies and the woods stand entirely still. You can hear it in the stillness after thunder, when also chickens appear to pause. That stop is not empty. It is full of thought, complete old, high in presence. The Planet is not calm because it is asleep. It is quiet since it's listening — to people, to the air, to itself.

We're loud. We fill the air with engines, sirens, comments, audio, machines. But nothing of this noise sinks into the ground. The Earth listens perhaps not with ears but with patience. It waits for what comes after our sound — what remains when our houses drop, when our signs diminish, once the satellites burn out in top of the sky. And when that time comes, it will still be here — however turning, however blooming in places untouched, still whispering with techniques only the breeze and the roots may hear.

We think of World as strong, as unmoving, as anything we stay on. But it is more than that. It is a human anatomy — living, moving, breathing with time also gradual for us to see. It does not shout, it doesn't beg. It endures. And for the reason that quiet stamina lies an electric far greater than fire or flooding: the ability of anything that has nothing to prove. Something that's previously survived the delivery of the Planet, the death of woods, the stop following meteors.

This is not just land. It is not only rock and water. It is just a keeper. A cradle. A memory that does not forget. Anywhere deep below, underneath the force and rock, it still murmurs the story of how all of it began.

Nonetheless it will never reveal in words.

We ought to learn to listen in silence.